He handed me a piping bag. “Fill these.”
I took it and started working while he kept talking, telling me which treats still needed drizzle, which ones Zahra said had to be perfect, and how she wanted the dessert table to look “soft and expensive.”
I found myself smiling proudly. I was proud of him and how easy he had fallen into being a husband, father, and manwho could go from standing over death to piping icing on baby shower treats because his wife wanted something special.
I hoped me and Legend had shown him enough of that to be what was influencing him now.
AVA REYNOLDS
By the time me, Livia, and Zahra made it back to the house, my arms were sore from carrying bags. Zahra needed to grab a few last-minute things she needed for the baby, but the shopping trip had been harder on me than I thought it would. Everywhere we turned, there was something else I wanted to stop and look at too, like little sleepers, bottles, blankets, all the small things I was going to need sooner than later. I had to keep acting like I was only there for Zahra, like I didn’t have my own reason to care about every aisle we walked down. It made me even more ready to tell my sister the truth, but I still wasn’t ready for the drama that was going to follow. And I definitely didn’t want to take the attention off her baby shower with my mess.
Royal was asleep against Livia’s chest, knocked out with his fat little cheek pressed against her. He was almost two years old by now.
Zahra shut the front door behind us and rubbed her belly. “I’m telling y’all now, if this baby ends up being a boy, Saint is going to act even more ridiculous than he already does.”
Livia laughed softly so she wouldn’t wake Royal. “I hope it’s a girl. Girls humble men.” Livia adjusted Royal on her shoulder and smiled. “And Saint need a little humbling.”
I snorted and shifted the shopping bags higher on my arm. “I think it’s a boy.”
Zahra looked at me. “Why?”
“Because this baby already acts like Saint. Dramatic, extra, and always got you out of breath.”
She giggled. “Shut up.”
Livia grinned. “No, for real, I want it to be a girl, a little tiny Zahra with an attitude.”
“A little tiny Saint would be cuter,” I argued.
“Absolutely not,” Zahra rejected. “That would be stressful.”
We were still laughing when we heard Saint’s voice from the kitchen. “Nigga, I said hand me the gold one.”
“Thatisgold,” we heard Icon reply.
“That’s not gold. That’s beige.”
“You’re arguing over icing colors like you’re a bride or some shit.”
Me and Livia looked at each other curiously as we listened to Saint and Icon arguing.
Zahra frowned. “What the hell?”
We followed their bickering to the kitchen, and the second I stepped into the doorway, I almost dropped the bags.
Saint and Icon were in the kitchen piping cookies; actuallypipingthem.
Liquor bottles sat open on the counter. Saint had flour on his shirt and some kind of icing on his hand. Icon had his sleeves rolled up, tattoos all out, looking irritated and focused at the same time while holding a piping bag over a cloud-shaped cookie like this was normal behavior for them.
The whole island was covered in cookies in the shapes of moons, stars, clouds, onesies, and little baby sleepers, trays ofcake pops, chocolate-covered pretzels, sprinkles, gold dust, and little brushes.
Livia let out a laugh. “What in the hell?”
Saint looked up, saw Zahra, and smiled like he was proud of himself. “Look, baby,” he said to Zahra proudly. “I couldn’t find anybody to make the treats you wanted on time so I made them myself.”
“Oh my God.” Zahra rushed farther into the kitchen, slow because of her stomach. Looking closely at each treat, tears flooded her eyes.
Icon looked over at Livia and lifted a brow. “Baby, tell this nigga this icing is gold.”
